


my happy little pill, take me away

by dontletyourheartdistractyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (not for mallison though!), (verging on too dark so be careful), Alcohol, Angst, Dark Thoughts, Domestic Violence, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mentions of Allison/unamed female (unhealthy and abusive relationship), Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontletyourheartdistractyou/pseuds/dontletyourheartdistractyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison wonders what she's going to do now.</p><p>She can't go home, not with <i>her</i> there. Waiting for her. No, no way. She shakes her head. Nope. Not going home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my happy little pill, take me away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day two of Allison Rare Pair Week, "song lyrics". It doesn't really feature the actual lyrics (except for the last line), but it's based on it, so I guess this is okay?
> 
> I apologise for any spelling mistakes but I can't be bothered to check.
> 
> This is very depressing and I am sorry.
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND CHECK FOR ANY TRIGGERS.

The crowd around her is large, each person an obstacle in her way, and Allison feels like she's suffocating, like each little step causes the non-existent hands to tighten around her neck. Even so, she glides through the busy streets like the hunter she is, or at least, that she should be.

The lights are bright and alive in the distance, something she can tell without even using her eyes. They always are, at this time of night, in this district. It's commonplace, but it still blinds her. It's, for lack of a better word, a nuisance.

The world around her rumbles on, loud, mechanical. Irritating. Too much for her ears to handle, so Allison switches them off, sticking in her earbuds clumsily as she stumbles along the pavement.

Anyone could have seen what she'd been doing previously, her eyes glazed over and glassy, not really seeing anything - she bumps into people, apologising only because of the impact, and nearly trips over the rubbish and litter strewn across the pavement. It's like she's blind, almost, but she can still see fuzzy outlines and messes of colours, so she's only halfway there, even if she wishes she was fully at the finish line. She's sick of this, sick of everything.

Her chest feels empty, empty, empty, and she would assume her heart stopped beating long ago, if not for the fact that she's still walking, still moving, and if she presses a finger against her wrist, she can still feel the slow, weak pitter patter of her thumping heart.

_Pitter patter. Pitter patter._

She slides her hand away, blinking dazily as the dim lamps of an almost vacant alley come into view. There's an old vending machine by the opening, nothing that would put her in any kind of danger, the danger Mals would want her to avoid. Further in, who knows.

Taking the risk, Allison's feet slide forward, her eyes focusing the best they can. There's not much to choose from, but her eyes instantly settle on probably the only chocolate she can afford. Sloppily pushing the buttons, or rather, slamming them, the brunette starts to wonder what the hell the guy gave her. Did he tell her? She can't remember. It was a red pill...

The bar hits the bottom of the the machine with a dull thud that makes her jump, shocking her out of her thoughts. She grabs the chocolate, tilting on her feet, the world swinging around her, and quickly rips the packaging, placing a single square on her tongue.

It's bitter as it melts, but what does she expect? A nice taste? Hah, nothing ever tastes nice anymore.

She hides it in her pocket, wrinkling her nose and spitting it out into the nearby bin, nearly falling over in the process.

Allison wonders what she's going to do now. What is there to do? She doesn't have the money for a club, and anyone, she doesn't want a quick dance or a quick fuck, and she doesn't have the money to buy a drink, so what's the point?

She can't go home, not with _her_ there. Waiting for her. No, no way. She shakes her head. Nope. Not going home.

Her heads dips under a particularly tall branch, and she spots a lone bottle of beer. Moving so quickly, so fast it suprises her limbs, causing her to almost slip, she picks it it, throws her head back and downs it.

She doesn't care that it's a lone bottle on one of the worst street's in the city. If it'll make her feel whole again, that's all that matters.

The moment the beer slides down her throat, a hand finds it's way around her arm, and the brunette would plummet if not for the strong grip.

Allison finds herself looking up a little, her eyes meeting pretty brown orbs. 

It's Malia.

Her short hair, brushing against her jaw, is know a light shade of purple, faded and matching the flower tattoo curling around her neck. She's so, so beautiful, and Allison can feel the air knock out of her chest.

"Allison." Her tone is stern and strict, her forehead furrowing and her eyes flashing blue for just a second. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Mals," Allison slurs, her heart lifting instantly. "You're here!"

Malia looks even more confused, at her sudden happy tone, but Allison doesn't notice, plopping down the bottle by her feet, to gather the other in a warm hug.

"I missed you."

"We saw each other last week," Malia protests, but she embraces her back, and suddenly, her soft arms are brushing at Allison's hair and she wants to cry.

So, she does.

The tears are forming quick in her eyes, and Malia pulls back fast, her eyes going wide in shock, and the other runs her fingers over Allison's eyes. "Don't cry. It wasn't long."

Malia's voice was awkward, stiff and unsure, and it's exactly the usual side of her that Allison expects, and the world seems to brighten.

The lilac of the werecoyote's hair and the black of her jacket sharpens, and the stars in the sky illuminate, and the fading blue enhancens, and Allison pauses.

"Want to go for coffee?" 

Malia's face twists into an expression of suprise at the out of the blue question, but she nods, her head jerking. 

The phone in her pocket buzzes, and her entire being darkens for a second. 

She recalls everything: _the punch against her cheek, the bruising spreading up her face day after day, the shouts, the smashing of the glass, the apologies afterwards. Soft brushes against her cheek, soft cuddles on the sofa, soft kisses. Then violence and hatred and anger and tears._

But then Malia looks down, her entire body glowing in the light of the shops nearby, and Allison walks on.

And she forgets, for a moment.

And so starts the cycle: Allison leaves, Malia finds her, and saves her, even if she doesn't know it. And Allison eventually walks back to the life she hates, away from the one thing that makes her happy anymore.

Maybe one day Allison will stop, maybe one day she will she will walk away from her hell, and maybe one day, she'll walk to Malia's door, a bag in her hand, and she'll stay.

Maybe.

Until then, Malia's just her little secret, her one escape, her drug, if you will.

Her happy little pill.


End file.
